One World Is Enough (for me)

I recently had a dream set in my story-world. This is not unusual. I dream about my characters and story situations often, particularly while I’m immersed in a draft. But this dream was strange. My dreaming self gave the dream-story a title: The First Blade-Wielder. And a narrator told me (the dreamer/audience member), in the voice of my work, about the origin of one of my warrior sects. The scenes played out as they were described, mostly without dialogue—sort of like a cinematic flashback sequence. The events are from hundreds of years before any of my stories actually take place.

As I wandered from deep slumber toward wakefulness, my dreaming self was emphatically urging my conscious self to remember the specifics, to write it all down. “It’s good stuff,” Dream-me reassured Wakeful-me. “You’re going to use this someday.”

So I did as I’d bidden, and wrote notes that morning. As I was writing, I was able to step outside myself and marvel at how well I know the details of this place and time that doesn’t exist. My grasp made the dream palpable, even as I came fully awake.

I consider dreams like this to be the result of having worked in one lone story-world for over a decade. Not that other writers don’t dream about their work. I’ve been having dreams about my stories since my earliest days of writing fiction. But this was a reminder of how the breadth and intricacy—as well as the frequency—of my dreams and daydreams about my work have expanded over the years.

Lately I’ve seen a lot of advice to writers about being willing to diversify, to try different genres and styles. I’ve also seen writers advised to be willing to walk away from a project that’s not bearing fruit. Or to scrap a story and start over when one has started in the wrong place. Indeed, at times it seems writers are urged to shelve what they’ve started and move on.

While I understand that such advice is generic, I’d like to offer myself as an example of how every writer’s journey is unique. And I, for one, am grateful that I clung to a genre project that didn’t immediately bear fruit in the form of publishing recognition. I’m even grateful for having started in the wrong place. Sound crazy?

Imaginary Intelligence

If it does sound crazy, I’ll admit that I’ve also read that one of the definitions of psychosis is a fixed belief in an imaginary world lasting months or years. I guess you could call my faith in my story-world a fixed belief. As I mentioned, I started working on it over a decade ago, and early on I was as focused on fleshing out the details of world-building as on plotting or story development.

I invented tribes, cultural customs, systems of law, religions—you name it. I have maps and a glossary of characters, place names, and terms that has over two-hundred entries. My world is alternate history, and before I started I spent a year reading everything I could find about the real version of the era. Having an understanding of the unfolding of history in the wider world offers context and insight that hopefully lends the stories plausibility as well as an aura of familiarity. I congratulate myself that I’m the foremost expert on my imaginary world. Mostly because no one else will, but sometimes one has to pat one’s own back.

And yet, none of these things alone will make my stories worthy of a reader’s attention and time.

False Starts? No Such Thing

I’ve written before about how I started a story that turned into a trilogy. I’ve also mentioned online that I moved on to write a “prequel” story about my characters’ parents, and how that’s now sprawled into a trilogy. And then there was the time I was going to scrap my original book one and start with book two. What I’ve almost never said publicly is that I started all of my major story arcs more than once. In the case of the original trilogy, I rewrote the opening at least a dozen times, starting at almost as many points in time.

Sound like I was having problems with inciting incidents? I was. Heck, half of those starts were written before I knew what an inciting incident was. And I have to admit, with each new start it was hard to accept that it wasn’t working. What I know now is that writing all of those openings helped me to gain a better grasp of my stories, and what truly incites them. Just as importantly, I began to learn what a vital role backstory plays in a novel, and to gain appreciation for its deft and intricate weave into an unfolding narrative. Have I written info-dumps? Oh yes. Have I introduced backstory clumsily, even via unrealistic dialog? Guilty as charged.

In other words, I fail a lot and learn from it—just as we all do. But for me there was an advantage to all of this trial and error in my own story-world. I had my own sequestered playroom—sort of like a story Lego-land in my writerly basement. It was a safe place to play and practice building things. And some of what I found in the freedom there was worth keeping and showing to the world.

Plus, something else was happening through all of those trials (and failures). I was gaining a fuller and more nuanced understanding of another important story element: my characters.

The Generational Advantage

I finished the first draft of the original trilogy almost exactly seven years ago. Shortly afterward I outlined another story that moved on in time, featuring the children of the trilogy’s characters. And currently I’m working on a story about the parents of the original characters. I’ve also written several short stories about the parents of my current characters (the grandparents of the originals). I even have a good feel for what kind of guy my current protagonist’s grandfather was. So to various degrees, I’ve explored five generations.

I have to give my beginner self a bit of credit. I’ve always known the parents of my original characters played significantly on their roles and worldviews. What I hadn’t foreseen is how heavily their parents’ choices and outlooks weigh on their identities, and subsequently on their own choices and outlooks.

I can’t tell you how often during this last rewrite I was able to draw on that generational knowledge to better recognize—and hopefully to better convey—its effect on my characters’ goals and motivations, and how those effects incite and impel their internal and external conflicts.

Being able to look backward, and in some cases forward, in time is a real boon. If there’s a significant event in the lives of your characters’ parents, and you haven’t already, I highly recommend writing a short story about it. It doesn’t need to be perfect. It’s just for you. Trust me, the insight gained far outweighs the effort.

World in Your Pocket

Some of you might be thinking my example can only apply for those writing speculative fiction. And certainly world-building is central to fantasy and sci-fi. But every novelist builds a story-world. Many reuse the key elements from novel to novel (think John Grisham or Anne Rice). Often writers build a new world for each new story, and that’s fine. I’m sure some of you think exploring one world for a decade would be boring or limiting.

I’ve found it to be the opposite. The deeper I delve into the intricacies, the more fascinated I become. I can imagine an infinite variety of stories, from an increasing array of characters. And finding how it all interconnects provides payoff after payoff.

So maybe Sting didn’t have it quite right for storytellers. Maybe one world isn’t enough for all of us. As for me, I’m glad I didn’t abandon my story-world or my first story. I’m even glad I started in the wrong place. And while I would never limit my options, I can imagine happily exploring this story-world for many years to come.

Does your Dream-self ever scold your Waking-self? Have you started in the wrong place? Have you written multiple stories in the same world or reused major elements? Did Sting get it right for you?

In the sixth grade, Vaughn’s teacher gave him a copy of The Hobbit, sparking a lifelong passion for reading and history. After college, life intervened, and Vaughn spent twenty years building a successful business. During those years, he and his wife built a getaway cottage near their favorite shoreline, in a fashion that would make the elves of Rivendell proud. After many milestone achievements, and with the mantra ‘life’s too short,’ they left their hectic lives in the business world, moved to their little cottage, and Vaughn finally returned to writing. Now he spends his days polishing his epic fantasy trilogy.

Comments

Thanks for letting us into your imaginative passion and what can be described as your (very happy) marriage to your work. Particularly with the latter quality, there is little doubt that this kind of depth will yield stories that are true and speak to readers. It reminds me of Tolkein’s passion for his world. I would give a lot to be cockroach on the agent’s wall that begins unpacking what you are bringing to us.

Your kind of work stands in contrast to formulaic novels–three characters, three acts, climax on page 206 and fade to joy. (I admit, I’m making this up very poorly.) It is also interesting that formulas, when well done, reach readers where they dwell and dream. It’s a big world out there.

I expect most of this morning’s readers of your post are familiar with dreaming of their story worlds and you have beautifully captured the great joy that we authors have. I use that joy and the anticipation of it when starting a new novel (as I am now) to counter the huge Eiger Face of the blank page and to push forward into the scenes yet unmet. The great thrill is looking back after a while and seeing the story where there was none a month ago. And seeing the wisdom of the characters that exceeds the author’s. Few art forms carry this kind of legacy and I look forward to participating as a reader in the one you are creating.

Hey Tom – It’s probably no surprise, but Tolkien has been a huge inspiration to me. But I think in perhaps a broader way than for the legions of fantasy writers he also inspired. I read several biographies many years ago, and I’ve always loved that he built his mythos almost as a hobby, and over such a long period of time. Not to compare my work to his, but I admit, there were many points over the past decade that I took solace in the fact that his stories didn’t just *appear* when he sat down to write them.

Your joy is contagious, Tom. Thanks for offering your kindness and insight this morning. You infuse us all, as we climb together, with your generous and supportive spirit. Here’s to eagerly forging new heights!

I was quite pleased to learn that Tolkien’s work was decades in the making and–do I have this right?–that he wasn’t really sure where it would lead. He wasn’t the typical novelist trying to get published. He was caught in the world of his career in mythology. And if I remember right, he had to be kicked into following up The Hobbit with Lord of the Rings.

Of course his erudition gave his work the basis of deep reality, a world his readers receive subconsciously–the mirror image of the way myth develops. I am glad he is a mentor of yours.

I used his work extensively for my first novel, also speculative fiction, gathering the elements of myth as they intersect with wisdom, and which, like Frodo and CO in LOTR, also involved a huge “pilgrimage” or journey. A quest novel i couldn’t not write. Thanks as always for your thoughts.

I’ve rewritten the opening of my WIP, changing the starting place, several times. And yes, I’ve written short stories around parts of the WIP and its backstory. Bits of those stories have been (and maybe will be) incorporated, but even without that they’ve been helpful, as you say, in understanding the characters. They’ve also been a good way to take a break and step back from my WIP. Plus when caught up in a long work, it’s satisfying to complete something, even if it’s short.

For me, too, Tolkein’s work introduced me to a new way of understanding story-worlds (and an abiding love of maps and history and mythology). I adored all the legends and histories behind his stories, especially the mysterious ones he only lightly alludes to. Tolkein said they added “shimmer” to the story. I’ll bet your stories are full of shimmer and am eager to immerse myself in them when you’re ready to send them out into the world.

Hi Barbara – Yes, I agree about the satisfaction of finishing a short piece. And, for me, working through things via story – actually sitting down and trudging through – offers up such insight. I love the idea of adding shimmer. Great way of putting it.

This is one of my favorite Tolkien quotes: “Every writer making a secondary world wishes in some measure to be a real maker, or hopes that he is drawing on reality: hopes that the peculiar quality of this secondary world (if not all the details) are derived from Reality, or are flowing into it.” Here’s to being “a real maker”! Thanks for the great addition to the conversation, Barbara!

I always enjoy reading your posts- the nuances of world-building and your acknowledgement of this certain psychosis writing brings with it. My psychosis may vary from yours (I won’t go into long detail, but I’ve recently begun to think about the story I would write if I learned I would die in six months. A bit dark, yes, but it really helped me realize this urgent need to tell this other story has merit, so I’m writing something a little different and mulling my true fears, the stories I really want to leave behind.) So I’ve discovered, like you, there’s this world I’ve been building all along in the secret recesses of my mind, thus these unusual dreams.

My view as a spectator of your writing path is this- you are on the right path. Absolutely. I think, perhaps, some ancestral line is speaking through you.

What speaks to me in this post is this- your deep-seated trust in the story that you’re telling. Trends, day-to-day fevers, etc.- haven’t turned you from your internal compass one bit. And so your stories will speak to us in various ways and give light to truths both personal and universal.

That is remarkable. You are remarkable. For those of us adjusting our paths and waking from dreams with eyes open to our own Voice and Truth (and yes, Beauty) this is a wonder and gives succor. We just have to be willing to turn up our pants and wade in. You tell us, “Come for a swim. The water’s fine.”

Hey Tonia – Wow, I think I’d better thank you right up front for your kind words, and for your faith in my faith. It means a lot coming from you (Gosh, we’re really getting to be old friends now, aren’t we – a side-benefit of the endurance this journey requires).

And, dark or no, I think you’re tapping into your dreams with the right mindset. We all have to find our way to our truths, and expose ourselves (in what can be frightful ways) to grow in a genuine way artistically. And I know that is your calling, your earnest desire for your work. And I have faith in what you’ll find!

Thanks again for your longtime support and encouragement. Have a great weekend!

Vaughn, I admire when you say “I fail a lot and learn from it—just as we all do.” This is such an important part of creativity and yet a really difficult one. Failure is just as fleeting as success but we tend to forget that. I’m a dreamer too: lots of story worlds to safely explore. Love this post today!

Hi Paula – Yes, the necessity of failing was a tough pill for me to swallow. I suppose I didn’t fully accept it until I’d done it enough, and gained enough hindsight distance to see around my ego, and realize I’d made progress. If that makes sense.

So glad you enjoyed the post. Thanks, as always, for enhancing the conversation here.

Vaughn, I have one of those Tolkien bios and I think I’ve read it three times now. I remember being blown away at how taken he was as a boy with the shapes of Welsh words on the sides of trucks. His love of words and language and deep roots led him a merry chase! I, too, have been working on the same story for over a decade. The first book has now become the fourth in a four-book series (a quartet?) and finding the real starting place required plenty of false starts. Actually, I had help from Mr. Maass on that score and am forever grateful! I always feel a twinge when I hear writers talk about branching out into short stories or flash fiction. But I’m obsessed, especially now that I can see the arc of my tale all the way though (she says now, ha ha!!) So I am heartened by your words. And I’m also impressed by your photography. Gorgeous picture!!

Hi Susan – I’d forgotten that bit about the shapes of Welsh words. Isn’t that fitting? It’s clear that he had not only an abiding love of words, but of the countryside. Great combo of passions to build a world on, I’d say.

I’d gleaned before that you had a series in the works in the same story word. Isn’t it wonderful to have a continuum like that? It both offers us choices and informs each “cell” of our stories. Keep up the good fight, my friend.

As for the photo, that was a November night two years ago, no filter. The light down on the beach was unlike anything I’d experienced, before or since. Unforgettable and otherworldly, indeed. Thanks!

So much meat to this post. I especially like what you say about generational knowledge. Never thought of that before. Now I have another way to dream my story world and characters’ lives.

You also mention looking forward in time. Also useful.

I envy your dreams. Creating the story world to me involves a struggle between the dream state and the waking mind. The waking mind wants to impose rationality and order, what it *thinks* the story should be.

The dream state, on the other hand, allows the story to be real. The story will be tempered and shaped later in revision but for a time the dream state needs to hold sway.

Hey Benjamin, Great observation about finding that edge between the our waking and dream states. On the morning after the dream I mention, I remember being so sure this was a short story that was all but written down. Only in the jotting of the notes did I see that it was pretty damn well incomplete. But there was good stuff there. The kind of stuff that leads me to free-flow writing days, so I’m grateful. But, yes, the struggle was not at all bypassed by the dreaming.

This reminds me of a schoolmate of mine named Zeke. He used to show up to the bus stop when we were in junior high and regale us with the prior night’s dream. Sometimes in great (and ceaseless) detail. Some days only the arrival at school ended the tale. But every once in a while, Zeke would just kill it. I mean, we’d all be enthralled – even some of the girls (who, at that age, normally did their best to ignore us).

I think I learned a couple of important storytelling lessons from Zeke. First: have a point. Also: stories are as much or more for the recipient as for the teller.

Here’s to fighting the good fight, and to never forgetting to allow the dream state the proper time to hold sway. And here’s to Zeke (who I hear later became a cop). And to you, Benjamin. Thanks for being such a consistent and insightful contributor to the conversation here at WU.

Vaughn, This is a timely post for me. I love reading well created worlds. Tolkien, Erickson, Moon and McKillip have built worlds I love. I became covinced a s while ago that I need to do this too. Very helpful and illuminating post. Thank you for sharing this. More!

Vaughn, I always read your posts feeling as if we’re sitting at a table together, sipping cocktails. Even in the early am. LOL You’ve got that way of sharing inner strengths and weaknesses with large doses of humble pie, and I can’t help but get caught up in your words. Thank you for that. Dearly.

As for the worlds you create, both conscious and unconscious…NEVER STOP loving what you do. Your faith in your work is contagious, and a gift that should be coveted, my friend.

Hi Dee! Well, we’ll just have to remedy this missing dimension in November by actually sitting at a table, sipping cocktails, and talking storytelling. And hey, if I have to take the early am to get a bit of your time, I’m still all in.

Reading this immediately brought to mind a time I was working on a scene between my protag and a tertiary character. It’s mostly dialogue — touching dialogue that is meant to evoke deep emotion (i.e., I want people bawling their eyes out by the end of it) — and I couldn’t get it quite right. I mean, if I wasn’t crying, how could I expect anybody else to go through a box of tissues? And yes, I want them to buy stock in Kleenex with this book. ;)

And then, one afternoon, I had a splitting headache after working on it and laid down. I couldn’t get my mind quiet, it was racing laps around that scene, but I might have drifted off — although I swear I never did — because the scene unfolded before me in great detail (even some parts in Spanish, as the tertiary character was Latino).

When I awoke from my waking dream, I instantly wrote down everything as I remembered, incluso las partes en español y todo! I sat on the floor with my back against the wall, like my protag is in the scene, and began reading the dialogue aloud. And yes, it brought lágrimas to my eyes in all the right places. When the protag was supposed to break down in tears by what he was telling the hotel manager, I was already mocos eslinga (I’ll let you look that one up).

Dreaming, even when it comes from the occasional no-I-wasn’t-snoring-I-was-wide-awake resting, works. And look at what your dreams hath wrought!

Thanks for another insightful article. (Oh, and I remember this picture — what a beautiful sunset!)

Arriba! So cool, Mike! (Moco y todo.) I absolutely love that space between slumber and waking, when scenes play on the backs of our eyelids, in finer HD than anything technology can offer. It’s a powerful gift. I actually seek it out, by pulling down the old hat brim and breathing as if I’m asleep. Sometimes it works, sometimes not-so-much. But even when the ole’ HD eyelids are on the fritz, I still get a good meditative moment, which always helps the upcoming session.

Thanks for the fun contribution to the conversation, and for all of your support, my friend. Have a great weekend!

Vaughn, you are such an inspiration. I admire your perseverance, your dedication, and your commitment to story. I still have a signed copy of one of your pages, and I keep it near my desk for when my writing desire starts to flag!

Hi Liz! I’m honored. And not just by the kindness of asking for and keeping my very first signature as a writer (talk about unforgettable!). I’m also honored because I know how spotty and intermittent your internet access is this time of year. Thanks for using a bit of it to read and comment. And thanks much for all of your support and encouragement. It means the world to me.

I’m relatively new to writing fiction and for a while, didn’t realize how much time and patience went into crafting a beautiful story. When I heard writers talk about spending seven, eight, nine years writing but having nothing “to show” for it, my initial reaction was “they must be doing it wrong.”

I’ve since begged for forgiveness for my arrogant, naive way of thinking. And I realize that what I’m witnessing, in many cases, is a writer who is creating her own world and getting to know it better than anyone else.

I think the kind of patience and nurturing you write about above is the sign of a seasoned writer – whether or not that writer has published or not. The word “epic” is thrown around a lot these days, but the word is a fitting description for a world that springs from the mind and dreams of a story a decade in the making.

Hey Grace! I forgive you, too. ;-) Seriously, I used to feel the same way… Before I found out for myself. And don’t get me wrong – there were plenty of days of frustration along the way. I’ve been called patient a couple of times before, but only recently. And I *really* appreciate the compliment. I know my parents are off in heaven giving one another an incredulous high-five whenever it happens.

But you know, a funny thing happened along the way through the decade: I realized I don’t want to be ‘published.’ I want to be ‘read!’ Along with that realization came another gem: In order to be read, you have to get it right–to offer something of value for the time it takes to actually do that reading (time most folks are short on).

Thanks much for your admission and for your high praise (my parents thank you, too ;-)! You’re a peach… No wait, better than that. You’re as smooth and sweet as peach butter! Have a great weekend, Grace!

Hey David – This comment is so satisfying, so full of wisdom. To have inspired it makes me feel like one of the cool kids.

I really am excited about the possibility of bringing those other five volumes up to snuff. There are characters and story-lines there that feel worthy of their time in the spotlight. And I think I’ve finally reached a point where I can truly appreciate the wisdom of the Mohr quote. So yes, progress has been made, and striving continues.

Funny, but I just saw an article about the Dunning–Kruger Effect, or the illusory superiority of one who’s basically to dumb to know how dumb they are. I strive to limit the cognitive bias of my imaginary intelligence to the writing world, especially when it comes to my own time in the voting booth. ;-)

Thanks for an awesome comment, and for making me feel like one of the cool kids, David. Have a great weekend!

Very timely post for me too, so thank you, Vaughn. These days it can seem that being an author is about so much that has nothing to do with dreaming and writing–and I often find that even thinking about the business/promotional side of writing saps my creative energy and sense of purpose.

In another wonderful post on this site, Heather Webb recently wrote about treading water… yup, that’s pretty much been my m.o. for a few months. Thus, I admire your clarity of vision and immersion. May the riches of your dream world continue to drop down upon you (paraphrasing Caliban).

Hi S.K. – I consider it a great compliment to be mentioned in the same comment as my friend Heather, so thanks for that. I can certainly imagine how sapping the business side of it can be, post pubbed.

I’m glad the post resonates. Thanks, too, for that awesome well-wish! Wishing you revitalization and forward momentum in the days ahead!

Vaughn, it finally occurred to me: We are all just story elements of yours, part of your dream-story, which of course is ancient and layered, perhaps like the aboriginal Dreamtime. Which makes me wonder: why did you give me arthritis in this story? C’mon, man, I’m tired of dream aspirin.

Really though, this is a lovely account of your process and your movement down the story river, even if the boat goes against the current now and then. I love that depth of world, lineage and the skipping back and forth in time you describe. It’s fascinating to me because the novels I’ve written are standalones, and there is no thread that binds.

Tom – I’m obviously a pathetically flawed Dreamtime dreamer. I mean, I gave myself these crappy shoulders and knees? And thinning hair? Really? Sorry about the steady diet of dream aspirin. To make it up, next time I dream us into the same room, the dream bourbon is on me.

Here’s to interesting threads, but to never feeling bound by them. Cheers, my friend. Have a great weekend!

Such a timely post today, Vaughn (I’ll join the chorus on that one)! I love how you take us on the journey with your Dream-self and your Wakeful-self. (I suspect my Dream-self is feeling a little ignored, now that you mention it.)

I think I’m still learning how to fail well. There’s the balancing act between “good enough” and “perfect”–which isn’t going to happen–but as you say, when the work is something you care enough about that it’s worth getting right, it certainly takes time. And trial. And error, or at least false starts and dead ends. And it takes trust that all that effort is getting somewhere.

I know it’s hard-won, but I take great courage and comfort in your sense of who you are and what you are doing with your story world. Certainly that’s “owning it.” ;-) Have a lovely weekend!

I used to fret about knowing when it was “good enough.” And I know I’ve “overworked” some of my stuff. But it’s funny, I’ve gotten to a point where I’m fairly sure I’ll know it when I get there. And I’m not sure where or why I came upon this feeling. But I think it comes along right about the time I began to realize that my failures an important part of my growth. Sounds like you’re self-recognition is on a similar course. And I’m guessing you’ll come away from the UnCon with an even greater self-certitude regarding your work. Looking forward to actually meeting my friend from across the lake.

Smiling here. :-) I think I struggle less with *whether* it will be good enough and more with *when*, LOL. But yes, I think the UnCon will be excellent for so many reasons, not least the opportunity to meet you–and everyone else in person. Ready for that collective shot in the arm!

Hi, I see myself in your description. My first attempt at a novel years ago was fantasy. World-building fascinated me – the cosmology, landscape and history of the group of survivors. What I had trouble with was the voice and character development. Since then I’ve written other work that’s better. Soon I’ll go back to number one in hopes I know enough to give it justice. Glad I didn’t toss it. Thank you for your words.

Hi Lenore – I’m glad you didn’t toss it, too. I don’t know if you’re familiar with fantasy author Brandon Sanderson, but he broke in with a trilogy called The Mistborn, then made his mark by being selected to complete Robert Jordan’s Wheel of Time after Jordan passed away.

Since then Sanderson has come out with a series called The Way of Kings, and from what I understand this story and its world were his first big writing project, and remain dear to him. He found his voice and honed his character and plotting skills and went back to his first true story love. It can happen. Keep on keeping on!

Hi Vaughn, It’s refreshing to know another writer will also spend years developing their one world. Whereas I haven’t lost the desire to write other stories, I’m becoming increasingly comfortable with knowing the series I’m working on may be the only world I eventually reveal. Not surprisingly, my story started with a dream, and the characters have been evolving in my head ever since. The hard part is untangling the first book, but it seems, like you, it takes many rewrites to discover where the story really began.

Hi Vaughn, It’s refreshing to know another writer will also spend years developing their one world. Whereas I haven’t lost the desire to write other stories, I’m becoming increasingly comfortable with knowing the series I’m working on may be the only world I eventually reveal. Not surprisingly, my story started with a dream, and the characters have been evolving in my head ever since. The hard part is untangling the first book, but it seems, like you, it takes many rewrites to discover where the story really began.

Hi Pauline! How cool that it started with a dream, and that your experience is so similar. I feel you on the increasing comfort with One World. It’s funny, how the possibilities grow as you go deeper and evolve, isn’t it? I mean, after all, it is a whole world.

The problem I have is every time I edit, I add more. The ‘more’ is brilliant in developing the characters but won’t help me when I’m trying to keep to a publishable word length. And unless I can do that, the first book will never be seen, and thus, neither will the rest of the ‘world’. It’s challenging fitting the picture in my head into a workable manuscript but I was born with grit and determination so continuing this ‘journey’ is not as overwhelming as it sounds. I look forward to reading more insights into your journey as well.

Pauline, I’ve fought the word-count buggaboo throughout my journey. I suppose I can only advise you to find the true essence of each of your stories, and to let go of the worry over the actual numbers. Looking forward to following along with your journey, as well. Best to you!

And to you, Vaughn. Here’s to not worrying about word count until it’s time to worry about word count. Oh, hang on, it’s my time to worry….maybe we should change this to ‘here’s to awesome worlds’ no matter what the word count. Write on!

Hey Vaughn, I’m late commenting on your post, but it came at a timely moment. After a long hiatus of not writing, I started this week to work on my never-ending story. It was rough, but I mustered through 500 words a day. Today, I finally got my groove back. That usually happens when I write something and I know I need to research it.

During these long months of not writing, I let my subconscious run wild. In its clever way, it suggested ideas that would make the story better. What surprised me is that it told me that I have two stories in one book. Another surprise, the story I want to tell after I finish this one is about a character that only appears in flashbacks. She is fascinating and I can’t wait to get to know her better.

I wish I could get to Salem this year to sit down with you and share writing war stories, but, unfortunately, it doesn’t look good for me. In spirit I’ll be with you all.

That’s something I enjoy and find quite useful as well. Short stories about extended family and secondary characters, thumbnail sketches, or at times, paintings, of incidental and historically relevant folk, can give one the insight to add perhaps a single line or two that can deepen the understanding of who these characters are, and how they interact with main characters, and/or the story, in a concise manner. Or realising they aren’t important enough to clutter up the plot. Keeping these minibiographies can also help in fleshing out these characters if you find you have use for them later. Personally, I just enjoy writing them, and I find they are a good way to get fingers moving whilst slightly paralysed by the stare of a blank page.

I really enjoyed your dream mining and world building, Vaughn. I haven’t gone to sleep without a notebook and pencil well within reach since my teens. Dreams are often much too valuable to let evaporate. And personal worlds have such universes and histories to travel. Thanks.